


The Mockingbird's Chick

by Zana Todd (captainofthegreenpeas)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Creepyshipping, Don't blame me if you don't like this ship, Drabble, F/M, Found Family, Grief, Intimacy, Petyr and Sansa are their own content warning, Sweet and Sad and Creepy, Twisted coping mechanisms, Yearning, corrupt love, filial affection, ruthlessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/Zana%20Todd
Summary: Just as Catelyn brushed Sansa’s hair herself when Sansa was little, Petyr brushes Alayne’s hair for her. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Alayne’s mask slips, and Sansa pretends it’s her mother who is brushing her hair again.





	The Mockingbird's Chick

It's time to dye her hair again.

Petyr always assists her with this, to make sure no-one else knows, to make sure each spark of red is snuffed out in the parts of her head she can't see. He removes his doublet and rolls up his sleeves to stop any stains from giving them away. _Clean hands, Sansa._

He cloaks her shoulders with a linen towel. He frees her hair, pin by pin. Alayne closes her eyes as he glides the comb through it, with the gentleness and grace of a handmaiden. He holds it when there's a knot, to stop the tugging from pulling at her head. Joffrey Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, Lysa Arryn… they all feel as distant and as dead as the Smiling Knight.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, Sansa Stark wakes up in Alayne Stone’s bed, and thinks of the little mirrored actions between Petyr Baelish and Catelyn Stark: how they straightened their sleeves with the same smooth brush of fingers, the same occasional brief unthinking nibble of the lip Arya had, the tentative poke with the knife point they gave their meat before cutting it. She wonders, in the haze between night and dawn, whether Petyr gained that mannerism from Cat or Catelyn from Petyr. Petyr is Alayne’s father, but sometimes there are hints of the mother Alayne isn’t supposed to have had, in the way that he checks that her dress is smart and her chambers are warm.

Once, a septa called Mordane told a girl called Sansa Stark about mockingbirds in a botany lesson, but Sansa was more interested in flowers than animals. 

"Little birds, but fierce," Septa Mordane explained. "Sweet songbirds, but in defence of their young they become quite frantic. They've been known to attack hawks, dogs, cats- animals several times their size- if they perceive them to be a threat to the nest." Sansa forgot, but Alayne remembers.

She keeps her eyes closed as Petyr strokes her head, tilting it back over her chair, her neck stretching out. Alayne sighs as warm water blankets her hair, Petyr catching it in a bowl. Silently, he places the bowl on the floor. He is exact in measuring out the minimum dye they will need. It must be rationed if they are to survive until more can come from Tyrosh. He strokes it on to the roots of her hair. 

Then it isn't the fire she is feeling, but the warmth radiating off the walls of Winterfell. It is nearly time for supper. Robb and Jon and Theon will talk about swords and hounds and boring things. Father will talk to smallfolk about boring things. Rickon will fall asleep at table. She will fight Arya for the sweetmeat platter. Bran and Mother will chatter away. Mother has just praised her for learning a new song on the high harp. Mother always makes sure her hair looks beautiful before supper. 

Petyr hums a few bars of a song Sansa loved, and it isn’t until later, when it cannot be drowned in the splash of water, that Alayne names it in her thoughts: Jenny of Oldstones. 

“Mother,” slips from her lips, quiet as a prayer. Petyr’s cold finger slides her lips shut, to silence.


End file.
